


From Prague With Love

by christinefromsherwood



Series: 007 Fest 2019 [7]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Bond is not happy to be on this mission, Christmas, Established Relationship, He misses Q, If You Squint - Freeform, In the Cotswolds!verse, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19741696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: This fucking country!He hated Russia in the winter, but at least in Russia he could be certain the ground was frozen solid!





	From Prague With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Table Fill : Fluff - Earth  
> Also, Scavenger Hunt Item #15

“Haaark the herald angels siiiing…” Christ, it was back again…

Behind the sight of his sniper rifle, Bond closed his eyes for a moment and worked very hard to suppress a groan.

Again, he cursed the spot he had chosen. Sadly, the roof of that TESCOs building, right above the tree sellers gave him the best line of sight into the flat.

Now Beránek just had to go out onto his balcony to have a smoke as he always did in the morning, and then Bond could finally shoot the bastard and get away from that roof and those fucking carols.

Usually, Bond liked Christmas songs just fine. In small doses. But this endless loop that he had been forced to listen to for—he checked his watch—Christ, three hours now, made him want to scream.

It had been alright – at the beginning. 

At first, the local carols were unfamiliar and interesting to listen to and to try to piece together their meaning from what little Bond knew of the language. 

And then this song came on and kept coming up again and again, and there was just something about those wailing tones coming from those shitty speakers that made Bond even more homicidal than he usually was on a mission.

“…peace on earth and mercy mild…”

The balcony door opened. Finally. 

The target took one step, two steps out into the cold. Cupped his hands against the wind to light his cigarette.

Not an ideal position, but the speakers were blasting about all the joyful nations rising, and Bond took the shot.

Good. A solid hit.

“Another one bites the dust,” Bond intoned stubbornly over another invocation to listen to angelic proclamations because it’s Christmas and everything is alright.

Everything was not alright.

Q had been icily polite when he handed over the equipment for the mission to this hellhole. And… well, it wasn’t really Bond’s fault, was it?!

That dish was new and frankly an absolute eye-sore. Fired Earth Hip&Trendy StylezTM… two serving bowls with a pair of candle stick holders… what a fucking bargain.

How was he supposed to know that something like _that_ actually belonged on the dinner table and was not another case of Q starting to prepare dinner for Candles and then running off to check up on new messages about the situation in Eastern Europe?

And he’d cleaned up the sofa, hadn’t he?

Bond sighed as he packed up his rifle and began his descent down the side of the building to the cheery sound of bells from “All I Want For Christmas”.

Goodie, this one again. 

That was the worst thing about this mission. A cooperative colleague of the bastard he had just shot to ensure continuing “peace on earth” had let slip that their operation had outgrown this country’s small borders, and now Bond had to go to Moscow.

Which meant not seeing Q for another week at least. And by then, Christmas would be over.

“Christ!” Bond snarled as he jumped the final two meters and ended up ankle deep in a disgusting combination of mud and slush. 

This fucking country!

He hated Russia in the winter, but at least in Russia he could be certain the ground was frozen solid!

As Bond tried to shake out the cold wet slime out of his shoes, he forced his mind back to the summer.

To when Q had just decided that he absolutely needed to plant the red begonias that morning, never mind the massive storm which hit the garden the night before. From his seat at the terrace, Bond had watched him prance about in those god-awful wellingtons, and then one had got stuck in the mud and Q had spent good thirty seconds fighting for balance with one striped sock-clad foot in the air, before he toppled over. He had looked adorable (and also a bit hot, Bond thought privately) all huffy and in clinging, mud-streaked clothes.

He had ended up having to apologize and grovel a bit before Q forgave him for laughing.

Bond supposed there was nothing for it, then. He wouldn’t be able to do any really effective, hands-on apologizing until he got back, but there was no sense in letting Q stew over it any longer than necessary.

He’d seen a couple of nice-looking holiday cards at that stand in the centre. Q liked holiday cards.

It _was_ a long-shot but Bond thought it could work.

**Author's Note:**

> [Visit my Tumblr to say hi, or for more 00Q creations. :) ](http://christinefromsherwood.tumblr.com/about)


End file.
